Looking Back
by SpecialAgentZiva
Summary: It's dark by the time he finally gets home, and something's missing. He busies himself around his gloomy, dirty kitchen, trying to make a meal out of what he has left. In the end, he's got something that looks like pasta and still that feeling.
1. Partners

**A/N: I've been waiting _forever_ for to add the Killing, and, look, it's here! :) I'm excited to see what all you other writers come up with. But I digress. This is my version of what happens after the season finale (which, by the way, was an absolutely _amazing_ finale; I loved it almost as much as Castle's finale). Did anyone else get the song that goes "I'm burning, I'm burning, I'm burning for you" stuck in their head? That would be the one playing at the end. I definitely got it stuck in my head. Anyway, I'm rambling. I don't own The Killing - please enjoy, and reviews equal love. Honesty is the best policy. :)**

It's dark by the time he finally gets home, and something's missing.

Maybe it's that he didn't stop by the police department, maybe it's because he forged the pictures - or maybe it's neither. He's well aware it's the third option, but he doesn't consciously allow himself to believe it. Instead, he busies himself around his gloomy, dirty kitchen, trying to make a meal out of the shit he has left - which really isn't much. In the end, he's got something that looks like pasta and still that feeling.

Is it guilt? Perhaps, but he thinks it's a mixture of different things, creating a poison that might just kill him. He forces his thoughts away from it and idly wonders whether Linden's actually gotten on the plane this time. This is when it hits him - he forgot to give her her "going away" present, the one he'd saved for when she was "actually going away." Yeah, he'd actually gone out of his way to get something small for her; it wasn't exactly the world's best gift, but he hoped it would get across the message: _it was nice knowing you, now get the hell over to Sonoma, and be happy there._

He really does want her happy. It's obvious that the woman's becoming obsessive to the point of putting off her own life for cases. Maybe that's why he forged the pictures, maybe not. He thinks it's that, and the desire to see Richmond (the _bastard,_ killing an innocent girl) in jail. Either way, he's done something wrong, and he knows it; he just hopes she won't find out.

Maybe that's the part that's missing. Perhaps he's still afraid of her figuring it all out. He was so careful in forging the pictures but what if - what_ if_ - ?

After all, she was pissy enough when he was doing his job _right._ He'd kill _not_ to see her rage when he was doing things wrong.

He falls asleep imagining this. It's weird, considering he barely knows her, but, as his eyes close and unconsciousness calls to him, he can't help smile at the idea of a woman her size trying to appear intimidating. Because, yeah, she's scary, but there's not much she can do.

He snickers, and then he really is asleep.

* * *

><p>While he can sleep, she can't let her eyes close.<p>

Rick's noticed, but he hasn't said a word. She wonders if he thinks it's like before - after all, she obsessed over that case, the one that nearly tore them apart. She's obsessing over this one, she knows, but she has to find the girl's killer. She _has_ to.

The difference between that case and this one is simple: in _that_ case, her partner didn't forge the damn evidence.

She's still so fucking mad at him, but she's able to contain her rage - for now. She hasn't said a word yet, but she'll be on a plane the next morning, at around eight o'clock. Rick can take care of Jack - he's never failed her there. Yes, he'll be pissed at her; they have a wedding to plan, after all, but this can't wait. Even if she can't solve the case, she has to know _why_.

Why would Holder do that? Why would he betray her trust the moment he'd gained it? Why would he put his personal thoughts over actual evidence? Why, why,_ why?_

Biting her lip, she tries to sleep. She really does. But she's still awake when seven a.m. rolls around, and she's out of bed not too long after. She kisses Rick, sweetly tells him that she's going for a run, denies his protests, and leaves.

She never looks back.

(yes she does - she looks back at the case, at Holder, at all of it, and wonders why the hell things had to happen this way - but she never looks back on leaving Rick.)

* * *

><p><em>Day 14<em>

He's not sure what time it is when he wakes up, he's just aware of the sun streaming in through his window, blinding him. He blinks once, twice, before swinging his legs off the side of the bed and getting to his feet. At first, he reaches for the familiar jeans and grey hoodie, before remembering _the case is over._ There's no work today. He finally has a day off.

Holder snorts at himself. He'll only get a day off if a body doesn't drop. If it does, it's back to the station. Maybe he'll get stuck with a new partner, maybe not. Hell, maybe they'll ship him back to County, maybe they'll fire him - maybe he'll be working mall security by the end of the week.

Deciding it best to get dressed just in case someone _does_ decide to die, he gets up and quickly throws on what looks to be a clean pair of jeans, a black t-shirt, and the same grey hoodie he's worn for thirteen days straight (this being day fourteen, of course). He idly wonders if he should wash it. Probably.

He's just shuffling out towards the kitchen, still blurry-eyed but a little bit more wakeful, when a pounding at the door startles him. For a moment, he freezes: he knows that knock. It's very police-ish. But after a second of thinking this, he smiles at himself. There's no way to categorize knocks, are there? He knows plenty of people who knock that way. It could be anyone.

Still smiling slightly, he makes his way to the front door. Briefly, he thinks it might be about time to get a house instead of a crappy apartment: he'd be allowed to install one of those eye hole thingies (hell, he's too tired to remember the name) and maybe know who was knocking. But _no_, he doesn't have the money to do that, not yet, so he's stuck with the good old fashioned way of answering a door.

He opens it.

What happens next is sort of a blur. He's utterly shocked. He's torn between horror and amusement; horror because (oh, God) she's _here,_ she's figured it out already, and amusement because she'd actually shoving him as hard as she can, and, no matter how much strength she puts behind her blow, it's still as futile as he imagined it the night before. He doesn't move, only watches as she pulls arms back to strike him again. Instead of striking him, she seems to have a change of heart and drops her arms to her sides, not before growling, "What the _hell_ were you thinking?"

Holder doesn't answer. He only stares, and it infuriates her. He's not sure what to say, she realizes; he didn't think she'd figure it out, did he? _Well…_ Biting her lip in frustration, Linden demands, "Do you realize what you've just done? You've blown the case to _hell,_ Holder! Richmond might be fucking innocent! The Larsens think it's over! What will they say when they find out it's _not?_ Do you get what you've done?"

He's still shocked; she's never said that much to him before, not in one breath. When he realizes she's glaring at him, readying her hands for another attack, he draws a deep breath and tried his best to explain himself in a calm voice, "I thought-"

But she doesn't let him get another word in, not yet. "You thought _what_, Holder? That you'd go ahead and ruin this case, ruin your career? I hope you're happy. Look what you've fucking done." Her voice is quieter, but he's still surprised; not only is she talking more, she's actively swearing every few sentences.

Only when he's sure she's done talking does he start again. "Look, Linden, I know I screwed up," he pauses here, just to make sure she's not going to interrupt him again, "but the bastard was guilty. I knew it, you knew it-"

"All _I_ knew is that the evidence pointed to him, not that the damn man was guilty. Don't you see, Holder?" He doesn't even try to stop her here. She's shocked him once again, her tone shifting from dramatically enraged to remorseful, maybe even a tad empathetic, but he knows better than to believe she is. Still, her next words are slightly softer than her first, "We might've just sent a good man to jail. All because - because - because…" she's struggling to find her words. After a second, she just gives up and goes with the next-best. "Why, Holder? _Why?_"

"I told you, I thought he was guilty," he tries to deadpan, but it comes out guilty anyway; it's obvious that's not the only reason, so he keeps going. "An'… an' you needed to get to Sonoma. You were obsessing over the case, Linden, and it just wasn't healthy, y'know?"

"Right," she rolls her eyes sarcastically, "because you've _always_ given a damn about my wellbeing, and because _that_ constitutes… whatever the hell you did. Forgery. Fuck-up."

Holder bites back a smile at her swearing. He shouldn't be smiling, not when he's feeling like shit and she's so pissed at him. Sighing, he tries again, "I just wanted it _over,_ y'know? It woulda been good for you and me. You needed Mr. Sonoma and I… I dunno, Linden, I was just tryin' to be a homicide cop, and you weren' exactly teachin' me much, huh?"

"Oh, so now it's _my_ fault?" The rage is back, and honestly, he's scared. He grabs her wrists before she can hit him again. She gets angrier at this but he doesn't let go, only steers her into the apartment, finally shutting the door behind him. If they're going to talk about skeletons in the closets and elephants in the room, the door may as well be closed; it would be no good for anyone to hear them before they'd figured out where to go next.

"It's not your fault," he mutters. She frowns, and he repeats it, louder, "It's not your fault, a'right? I screwed up, Linden. What the hell do we do now?"

Growling in frustration, she shakes her head. She looks as though she might speak but chooses instead to collapse into the nearest chair and bury her head in her arms. He stares, not entirely sure what to do, but he does take a few steps closer, desperately hoping she won't flip out on him. Instead of doing that, she loudly announces, "I've got no money to get back to Sonoma, Holder."

"So?" She glares, and he realizes. "Ohhh… shit. I could - I could pay for it."

"_No._"

"Yes."

"No, because we're not just gonna bury this. I don't know how the hell you can sleep knowing what the hell you did."

"Who said I slept last night?" She glares again. "A'right… I did. But you know what, Linden? I can separate myself from the damn cases. _That's_ why I can fucking sleep. I'm secure in knowin' that bastard's in jail and the family's happy-"

"Happy? _Happy?_ How the hell are they happy?"

Holder shifts from foot to foot. She's not looking at him anymore, and he decides he may as well risk his life, choosing to take the few steps to the chair, crouching down in front of it. As gentle as he can, he moves her arms from her face and lays them on the sides of the chair. Well, he's got her full attention now - that's a good start.

"Look, Linden, I screwed up. I told you that already, a'right? Just - just… we gotta find a way out of this. Gotta figure out what we do next."

"Easy," she deadpans. "I go down to the station, tell Oaks you're a screw up. Richmond walks free, the family's devastated, and you're out of a job."

"You can't be serious-"

"Of course I am!"

"We're _partners,_ Linden, we gotta stick up for one another."

Her glare is nearly fire itself, cutting its way through him. He shifts uncomfortably, staring into her eyes, waiting for her to agree - but she doesn't. "We _were_ partners before you did _this._ I can't believe I actually trusted you."

Though there's no measurable rage in her voice, the words themselves are enough to render him speechless. He can only stare as she continues. "Sticking up for each other only goes so far, Holder. If you want to screw with evidence, kill your career - that's your choice, you do whatever the hell you want, but I am _not_ letting this happen. I'm not covering for you."

"Then don't," the words are out of his mouth before he even thinks. "Linden, I'm a rookie, aren't I? They expect me to fuck up. Maybe - maybe - if we tell Oaks the… _right_ way, he'll listen. He'll put us back on the case, a'right?"

Linden shakes her head vigorously. "I'm supposed to be planning a wedding, Holder, not cleaning up your damn mess!"

"Well you obviously flew back here for a reason."

"Yes… well…" she sighs, putting a hand to her forehead, pushing it hard into her skull, eyes closed. They stay like this for a few moments; him watching, her thinking, before she opens her eyes. "I'm going to regret this but… fine, Holder. We'll figure this out."

"Partners?" He offers her his hand and a small smile.

She doesn't smile, but she does take his hand, and she does whisper, "Partners."


	2. No Doubt

**A/N: Thanks to everyone who reviewed this story. c: You pretty much made my day. So, here's chapter two for you all. I'm not sure how long it'll take before I update with the third chapter because I actually need to _write_ it. These two I actually had written beforehand, mainly because I was hopeful that FF would add it. But anyway, I don't own, and please enjoy!**

"Yo, pretend you're Oaks, and I'll be you."

It's stupid, but it's the best suggestion he has. He sighs when she shakes her head at him, half out of irritation, half out of amusement. They've gotten nowhere in the past thirty minutes, but not for lack of trying. And no matter how hard they might try, there's still that thought at the back of their minds: Richmond's still in jail, and the Larsens will suffer more the longer they wait.

Linden regards him carefully for a minute before finally declaring, "Let's just _do_ this, Holder. We're wasting time."

"An' what, exactly, do you propose we say?"

She bites her lip out of frustration, closes her eyes, and covers her face. He watches as she does this; strangely enough, she looks vulnerable, which is hardly something he'd ever expect to see on her. But, then again, she's folded up in one of two rugged, old chairs in his living room, knees tucked up to her chest, and she doesn't seem to care about being the intimidating detective she normally is. He laughs inwardly as images of her futile strikes resurface; how could she have thought that she would actually do any damage?

Holder's still crouched in front of her, in the same position he's been in since she first fell into the chair half an hour ago. His legs are cramping, protesting the stance, but he's ignoring them the best he can. The way he sees it, he's got a better chance of reasoning with her when they're eye level and facing each other. It's strangely comfortable, considering the situation. He can watch her, she can see him, and it's all very companionable for two people trying to figure out their doomed future.

Finally, he reaches his hand forward, and grips her arm gently. This catches Linden's attention; she slowly opens her eyes, raises her face, and looks at him. At first, he's afraid of any leftover rage in her eyes, but she's only looking at him with wonder and determination. He takes it as encouragement and says, "Fine, Linden, we'll just go see Oaks, 'kay? But we gotta get some things straight first, yo."

"_Holder,_" her voice is stern. "We can't just stay here and debate this on the hopes it'll go away. If we keep doing this I'll just go myself, and, need I remind you? This shit is all on you. I'm not covering for you."

"I know, but we can't just march in there. Who's doing the talking?"

"You."

"I can't do this alone-"

"Fine," her tone is begrudging, "I'll talk _if_ and when I have to, but otherwise it's all on you. _Now_ can we get going, Holder? The longer we stay here, the more I want to get the hell back to Sonoma," she pauses, and looks a tiny bit depressed. "Wait, I can't. No money. So I'm stuck with you."

"You don't sound too happy about it." She opens her mouth, anger flaring in those eyes, but he keeps going, hastily recovering, before she can start flipping out on him again. "I get it, Linden, you don't have to be happy with me. Let's just get the hell out of here."

Still, she glares for a few seconds before nodding and unfolding her legs from her chest. Only when she yawns does he realize just how tired she really is, but he knows better than to offer her a chance to sleep. Not now, anyway. They've hit a period where she's not screaming curses at him every other second, so he'll take what he gets. Instead, he stands up straight, stretching both arms out behind him. She stands on her own, unassisted, but he does feel guilty for not even offering his hand.

Oh well. Too late - like so many things lately.

They share a look - he's not sure what it means, she's not sure what it _doesn't_ mean - and then they're ready. They've got to go now or they'll never leave.

* * *

><p>Mitch Larsen hasn't slept.<p>

It's funny, because this should be the one day she _can_ actually sleep, but she's got a feeling, and it refuses to leave her. It's one of _those_ feelings, the gut-wrenching, heart-numbing sensation that starts at the bottom of the stomach and works its way up until it slowly tears a person apart. Because that's what it's doing, isn't it? Tearing her apart, and, in the process, forcing her awake.

She knows it's past noon now, but she still can't get out of bed. It's fine; Stan will get the boys, or Terry will, maybe even Belko. _Belko._ She feels a bit guilty over how cruel she's been to him in the past two weeks, but she can't even think of a way to apologize. Besides, no one had seen him since he'd left the night before. Terry had told her he'd left, and she didn't know anything more. At first, she'd felt relieved, happy that the rat was finally gone, but is she really _missing _him now?

Hmm. Idly, she thinks that she just might call the man and request his coming back. Or maybe she'd tell Stan to call him. The latter option sounded better. She can't even begin to imagine what to say.

Yawning, Mitch rolls over, tossing a hand across her eyes to shield herself from the sun. She curses the bedroom window and instead chooses to stare at the opposite side of the room, where she's immediately surprised to find there really _is_ someone beside her. Confused, she gently prods her husband. "Stan? Why're you in bed?"

He doesn't yawn, only opens his eyes and looks at her. It's obvious he hasn't been sleeping at all. "I got some bad news, Mitch."

Fear hits her like lightning and she immediately freezes. What could possibly happen _now_? What could be worse than what they'd already gone through? He must have seen the look on her faee and guessed she's inches away from tears because he scrambles to say, "The boys're fine, Mitch. Terry took 'em to school. It's… it's Belko that's the problem."

She's still scared, but not so much. The only encouragement he receives is a slight nod from her, but he still takes an extra heartbeat before actually speaking. "Belko's… Belko's dead, Mitch," his voice breaks; she's not sure if it's out of stress, or depression over his friend's death.

"How?" It's the only thing she can say, and she knows it hurts him to choke out the next words, but she needs to know.

"He shot himself. B-but not before shooting… Not before shooting Richmond."

And now she understands.

Her mind goes blank and her only words are, "Oh, my God."

* * *

><p>They're getting stared at.<p>

Well of _course_ they're getting stared at. First of all, she doesn't even work here anymore. She's not Homicide Detective Sarah Linden of the Seattle Police Department, she's just Sarah Linden, civilian, ex-cop. And he's… he's not working a case. There's no reason for him to be here, especially not with her by his side. Still, they expected this, and thus force themselves to look through the stares, and ignore the questions, until they reach Oaks's door.

Once there, they stop outside. It's closed. Damn their timing - he's talking to another detective, or in a meeting of some kind. They'll have to wait. They share a look, much like the earlier one, filled with impatience and waning confidence. They really can't wait too long, or they'll be bombarded by other cops - which is something they most certainly do _not_ want. They don't even know what they'll say to Oaks, so how could they know what to say to a thousand other cops?

Holder imagines himself saying, _"Yo, wattup, guys? Linden's just, y'know… visiting. 'Cause I kinda fucked up. Big time. Like, screw-your-career or kiss-your-ass-goodbye bigtime."_ He can almost see her smacking him and growling, _"I'm not cleaning up his mess, I'm just here to let Oaks know he's a screw-up._"

Okay, so he's nervous, but he'll have to hold himself together. The way Linden's looking at him every few seconds, she probably knows what he's feeling - maybe she shares the emotion. But either way, they're stuck here.

He starts counting seconds but is so startled when the door opens that he loses all thought of the time that has passed. It's only been three minutes at most, he decides, but the way his heart rate is jumping, it could've been twenty years and he would've been too shaken to notice. A rather pissed off Oaks stops, takes a look at both of them, shakes his head, and then withdraws into his office. Holder sneaks a glance at his female partner and they take it as a cue, both squeezing into Oaks's office.

Once there, they realize that they really are fucked. They have no idea what to say now. Inwardly, Holder's cursing himself for agreeing with Linden, and even she's cursing herself for her own idea. It's not until Oaks finally demands, "What are you two doing here?" that they try to explain themselves.

Unfortunately, they both speak at once, and their sentences jumble together into something like, "Yo, I-Holder-Linden-Larsen-Richmond…" They stop in unison, look at each other, and each draw a deep breath. It's Holder that speaks this time, "Oaks… we gotta problem. Like, big time. I mighta fucked up bad."

If Oaks had a problem with his language, he was skipping over it now. He was glaring furiously at both detectives (ex-detective and soon-to-be-mall security, he renamed them inwardly), trying to decipher exactly where the hell they could go wrong. It had to be the Larsen case - why else would Linden be back? The man cleared his through rather loudly. "How _bad_ is bad, Holder?"

"Um… very bad?"

"Spit it out, then, or you really will be asking to work as a mall cop from now on," he was trying to control his words, he really was, but it just wasn't working out for him. Oaks was expecting Holder to answer him, but the detective looked as though he'd swallowed something poisonous (a very odd look for the man; he'd never seem Holder look anything but infuriatingly arrogant).

Instead, it's Linden who answers, after a heartbeat of waiting on her partner. She looks equally disgusted by what she's saying, but at least she has the courage to speak. "We may've made a mistake by arresting Richmond. The-the evidence may be… dismissible in court. In other words… fake."

"What the hell?" Oaks explodes at her, at both of them. "How does that happen? And what do you mean, 'fake?'"

"Fake meaning not real, yo," Holder blurts out before he realizes what he's saying. He looks shocked at himself and quickly back-pedals. "I-I mean… we may've made a mistake with the picture. Of the toll booth. T-turns out it's not real."

"Then how the hell did it get into your hands?"

_Oh shit._ Oaks is catching on fast. Holder chances a look at his partner but she won't look back at him, despite his willing for her to help. He's alone in this, isn't he? She wasn't kidding when she said she wouldn't say it all for him.

"Bad source, y'know? Like… I made a mistake, Oaks. A bad one," he tries, and quickly realizes it just doesn't cut it. His next words blur together, becoming only slightly distinguishable, but not enough to get out the meaning. "." Linden coughs beside him, a not-so-silent signal that he's making no sense, and he's forced to try again, but slower. "I… might've… accidentally… sort of, y'know, taken in bad evidence… might've listened to my old partner… oh, hell, the picture was forged."

Rage flares in Oaks's eyes even faster than it had in Linden's. Linden was damn scary when she was angry, but Oaks was giving her a run for her money. Maybe it was the higher rank that made him appear so much more intimidating, maybe not; either way, Holder wa feeling very small at that moment. "S-sir, I know I-"

"Screwed up? Yeah, Holder, you really screwed up," Oaks rages. "What the _hell_ do I do now? Call the courts and get Richmond released? You realize he could fucking sue us on this? The man just lost an election, he'll be pissed."

_Well…_ if a swearing Linden was shocking, this was… he wasn't even sure what this was. "I know I screwed up, alright? J-just let me fix it."

Oaks only makes a noise that sounds very much like a growl before turning his attention to Linden. "And what do you have to say for yourself, Sarah? Or him?"

"I had no part in this," Linden defends, trying her best to keep her tone steady, "_but_ Holder's right. He's only a rookie. I should've known to check his evidence. I know this is a bad situation-"

'No kidding it's a bad situation."

"-but there's gotta be a way to fix this."

"And how do we keep the family from screaming at us? This could cost me my job, Sarah!"

"I'm sorry, I'm not trying to make you lose your job, I'm trying to fix a screw-up."

"Thanks for that," Holder mutters. Unfortunately, this brings all attention back to him. Quickly, he scrambles for the best option he could think of. "Yo, we could, uh, we could deal with this quietly. Hold off on Richmond's sentencing, y'know? Let the family believe s'all good while we catch the real killer."

"That'd be great," Oaks starts, his tone still menacing, "_if_ Belko Royce hadn't shot Richmond this morning."

"_What?"_ Both partners demand simultaneously. "But-"

"But nothing. The bastard shot Richmond _and_ himself. So there's no dealing with this shit quietly."

"You just said Richmond could sue, though-"

"Yeah, I meant his campaign."

"Oh, fuck," Holder mutters. "We're so fucking screwed."

"No doubt," Linden acknowledges, shaking her head. "No doubt."


	3. Explanations And Sleeping Arrangements

**A/N: I included a character in this chapter that I wasn't too sure about. Let me know if you guys think I could improve on his character; I'd love your honest opinions about it. When I think about it, the scenario might've worked better with Gwen, but whatever. I don't feel like changing all the 'he's to 'she's and so forth. xP You'll like the ending, though, I'm sure. Anyway, I don't own The Killing, and please enjoy!**

When he signed up for the campaign, he'd never imaged he would have to deal with _this._ Lying politicians, yes. Cheating millionaires, yes. Maybe even the occasional scandal or cover-up. But never, in a million years, did he expect _this._

Darren Richmond was one hundred percent respectable in his books. It had been a horrendous shock when he'd first found out the police were investigating Richmond, but he'd laughed it off then. The man was pretty much bulletproof. The police couldn't touch him, not without solid evidence that he was sure was _not_ there.

Okay, so finding the girl in the campaign car had been incriminating, but there had to be hundreds who worked for or supported the campaign and could access those vehicles. Finding out that Richmond _had_ actually met Rosie was surprising, but even then he knew they were safe. It wasn't until the word of an affair - of _many disturbing affairs_ - surfaced that he began to worry. Still, he didn't expect the Seattle police apartment to blaze in and actually arrest Richmond.

Naturally, he should've switched sides right away. It would've saved his carrier to just join the mayor - to _really_ join him this time, instead of playing spy for two different allegiances. But no one said that being a politician meant his heart would be made of ice (though, now that he thought about it, even _he_ thought politicians were unfeeling). No one said he wasn't allowed to collapse against the wall of his apartment, staring at everything and not taking any of it in.

No one prevented him for doing this for an entire night, and straight into the next morning.

Because Richmond was _dead._ The more he repeated this in his mind, the more real it felt, and the more of a failure he became. Maybe he wasn't meant to be a security guard, but he should've found some way to protect the man, to maybe - just _maybe_ - get him out of the situation alive.

And then there was Seattle PD. If anything, his rage for them had doubled over the hours he'd spent collapsed against the wall. Even if he'd been helpless - _weak, stupid, cowardly _- they shouldn't have been. They had guns, he was sure. They had guns and authority and enough strength to take people out. At least, they were _supposed_ to.

Apparently not.

After all, they'd let Belko in. They'd watched, shocked, as he'd raised the gun, and they didn't do so much as twitch their hands towards their own firearms. Instead, they'd let the bullet fly.

They'd watched it hit Richmond.

They'd let him die.

* * *

><p>"I'm gonna get fired," Holder groans, rubbing his hands over his face. Oaks had ordered them to the conference room and simply left them there about ten minutes ago. After ten minutes filled with insubstantial silence, he's tired of <em>not<em> talking. Even if she won't speak a word to him, he will talk for the both of them. As he'd predicted, she doesn't answer him, but she does give him a fleeting glance, and it says everything.

_Shut up, Holder,_ he reads in those eyes - maybe incorrectly; when he thinks about it, he really doesn't know her. Deciding to weigh in on the side of incompetence (because, after all, that would be her thoughts of him), he cocks his head and grins at her. "Hey, but, on the bright side… we're still alive, Lin-den." He purposely draws out her name to get a rise out of her, but she doesn't even give him a look this time. Sighing, he folds his arms on the table and mutters, "Fine. I try to lighten the mood, you ignore me. Sounds good. I screwed up enough already." After a moment, he drops his head on his arms, looking completely defeated.

He's just staring at a table now, but she's actually looking at him. She looks torn between fleeing the room, fighting him, and keeping silent. However, her decision is none of the three. Reluctantly, she reaches forward and rests her hand on his shoulder, squeezing gently. She wrinkles her nose when she realizes he's still wearing that dirty old hoodie, but doesn't say a word. He must've felt her attempt at a comforting gesture, however, because she can see his lips turn up just a little bit from where his face is peeking out from under his arms.

"Yo, Linden, while I appreciate… um, that," his words are halting, awkward, when he speaks, heartbeats later. "But I'd appreciate it if you'd say somethin', y'know? I know I screwed up _bad_, but… I dunno, it would just be…"

He trails off, but she gets the idea and nods despite herself. She really doesn't want to be here. She _definitely_ doesn't want to be comforting him, but somehow loyalty to a partner always wins over doubt and frustration. So she nods, draws a deep breath, and says, "You know, I bet Jack's awake by now."

"Didja leave him in Sonoma, Linden?" Puzzled, he raises his head a little bit. She smiles at the confusion on his face, but it's more a depressive frown than anything. At first, she only shrugs awkwardly and moves her hand to his hair, not sure how long she can keep it there considering his obvious issues _and_ the extraordinary amount of dirt in his hair. He looks kinda cute when he's confused, she decides, but in the same way a monkey at the zoo might be cute. After a moment of thinking this, she shakes her head, and answers him.

"Yeah, Holder. I couldn't wake him that early, and I didn't have enough money to get both of us up here. Not to mention…" her voice quiets, and he suddenly looks both sheepish and guilty. "If he's there, Rick's more likely to _not_ hate me."

He opens his mouth to apologize for all of it when the door opens and Oaks walks in, his hands clenched at his sides. Behind him, a blonde man walks. They recognize him immediately, and both of their eyes are wide. Linden's hand moves instantly from Holder's hair to her lap, hoping that nobody had noticed the odd moment shared. She makes a mental memo to clean that hand later, and then focusses her full attention on the two men entering the room.

"Detective Sarah Linden, Detective Steven Holder," Oaks points to each of them in turn. "I believe you've already met Jamie Wright."

The pair nod, confused by Jamie's presence but neither bold enough to voice their thoughts. Oaks and Jamie take seats across from them; Oaks's gaze is perpetually on Holder, but Jamie's never seems to leave her face. She shifts uncomfortably, and so does Holder. The room is silent for several minutes before a restless Holder begins to drum his feet on the floor (at which point, of course, she has to elbow him, and he _has_ to yelp).

Irritated by the sudden commotion, Oaks clears his throat. "We'd best get down to business, then. Mr. Wright, I suppose you have some comments for our detectives. Please, allow them to explain their story before posing questions or making comments, just to ensure we get the _whole_ story."

He's dealt with politicians and their wordsmiths before, obviously. Jamie looks like he's swallowed something disgusting, but he nods anyway, and Oaks nods as well, though his is accompanied with a glare. Holder throws his hands in front of him on the table as to not distract himself, and begins by saying, "Uh… thanks for coming… Mr. Wright. We got a problem, and it concerns your boy Richmond."

He must sound like he's a delusional twelve-year-old still thinking he's gangster, because Linden rolls her eyes at him and cuts him off before he can say more. "What he _means_ to say, Mr. Wright, is that we have some bad news and believe it may be important that you know this before it reaches the press. Your campaign will have to react accordingly." She flushes guiltily, and looks angrier still. "_If_ you choose to still run it, in favour of a - a new candidate."

Oaks's glare is telling them to _spit it out already,_ so Holder takes charge. With a glance in Linden's direction to stop anymore words, he actually manages to open his mouth and get a semi-intelligent sentence out. He'd be proud of himself if the situation wasn't so dire. "It turns out Richmond might be innocent. The - the evidence was forged."

It's suddenly so silent that one could hear a pin drop. Jamie's eyes widen in both relief and rage. Richmond died - slain by the hand of a psycho martyr for the Larsens - yet he was _innocent?_ And Seattle PD actually thought it mattered to the campaign, thought it would be best if he knew before the press? Frustration causes his hands to clench into fists on the table, but his eyes are the indicators to the real internal battle. He's relieved; Richmond really was the _integrity_ candidate. Of course, his reputation is ruined now (_and he's dead_), but it's somehow nice to know that he was right: Richmond wasn't capable of the accused crimes.

Still… he could be _alive_, if it wasn't for poor detective work and _forged_ evidence. He stops at that thought, and dwells on it for a few moments before asking, "Has the person who _faked_ the evidence been caught?" The subtext _'can I have a very _polite _word with him?'_ was incredibly obvious in his tone of voice.

Holder and Linden both look at each other, their eyes silently fighting wars they cannot speak aloud. It's funny, really, how two people in such a dysfunctional and new relationship could communicate when they really need to. Though, their communication must've been a struggle, because Oaks cleared his throat suddenly - subsequently causing them both to jump - and smoothly declared, "The perpetrators have not been found yet, Mr. Wright. If you have no more questions, thank you for coming in. I hope this can aid you, your campaign, and Richmond's memory before the news hits the press." He pauses, and Linden takes the time to add, "We're sorry for your loss."

Jamie's eyes flash but he nods and slinks out of the room, not even bothering for a handshake. Linden's eyes trail him; she's only met him once, maybe twice, and he's rarely seen _without_ a smile or smirk on his face. To see him torn and upset throws her off her game a little bit (_not that Holder hadn't already done so_). She vaguely considers following the man, perhaps having a private word with him the way that she did with Richmond, but her subconscious reminds her: Jamie Wright could still be a suspect. And, as she'd learned through her "sharing" with Richmond, giving information to a suspect could go terribly, terribly wrong.

Oaks's attention is suddenly back on them, and she forces herself to listen as he talks. To be honest, she doesn't want to hear it. Her mind is floating back to Sonoma, to the possibilities there, to everything she _should_ have right now but doesn't. All because of Holder.

Somehow, she's not sure she hates him. Somehow, she thinks their odd - _insane, dysfunctional, mismatched_ - partnership might just be worth it in the end.

But she forces herself to forget that and makes sure she listens when Oaks finishes his speech with a, "I hope you're proud of yourselves. Until I can decide what to do with you, go _home._"

* * *

><p>She doesn't have a home, but somehow she ends up at Holder's. It's better than some of her other possibilities, but not by much. She might've been able to handle it better if it wasn't for his incessant pacing; he's nervous, obviously, and pacing <em>somehow<em> makes him feel better. She doesn't understand how, but she does watch him from the dusty old chair she's claimed as her own. Occasionally, he stops, sneaking a glance in her direction that he doesn't think she sees, but she always does. It's a perk of being a detective, she decides; she notices the small details, and maybe this one isn't so bad.

They're both exhausted, but not tired enough to fight over who sleeps where. She's pretty sure he knows that sharing a bed of _any_ kind is completely off limits, but she knows better than to expect he'll try to convince her to go that way. She's frankly scared of sleeping on the chair - it's comfortable enough and, yes, she's had worse, but her mind is telling her horror stories of bacteria that might be living there. She's positive his bed isn't much better, but she _isn't_ going to take it.

There's nowhere else to sleep.

After what seems to be forever, Holder suddenly stops his incessant pacing, shoves his hands into his pockets, and disappears. She turns to look at him, but he's already down the hallway and out of sight. A still swinging door is the only clue as to where he'd disappeared to; she immediately realizes he was probably in his bedroom. _Sleeping_. Just like she should be.

Linden is incredibly surprised when he appears a few minutes later, his arms around a huge bundle that looks like blankets and pillows. She raises an eyebrow at him but decides not to ask, preferring to watch as he carefully sets things up in the open space between the chairs and the wall. He doesn't even offer her a smile, though he does glance at her occasionally, as if unsure of what he's doing. Two blankets are laid across the floor, accompanied by two rather ugly pillows, by the time he's emptied his arms. Though she expects he's done, he disappears back into his bedroom and reappears with one more blanket - this one, thankfully, looked cleaner than the rest - which he proceeds to drape across one of the chairs and tack to the wall in multiple places. When he's done, there's a strangely boyish grin on his face that she's never seen before.

"Holder," Linden asks, barely able to keep back her own smile, "what, exactly, _is_ this?"

"You need somewhere to sleep, right?" He looks a little bit lost, glancing between her and the makeshift fort. "I know you won't take my bed, Linden, and I ain't putting you on the floor. Well, I am, but…" He actually stops and _blushes, _which she finds far more entertaining than his construction. Sighing, Holder rolls his eyes at himself, points to the fort, and says, "This is the best I can offer you. We can - we can share the floor."

She raises an eyebrow. "Why don't I just sleep on the floor and you sleep in your bed?"

"Because," he deadpans, "all my blankets are on the floor, and I _don't_ want to freeze, y'know?"

Linden looks as though she's seriously considering leaving - which actually does upset him - before her solemn face breaks into the tiniest of smiles. He can't help but smile with her; it's been a long, hard day, filled with rage and stupidity, but they're on the fast track to righting things. Righting _themselves_, anyway. Instead of answering him, she nimbly climbs down from her chair and settles under one of the blankets, though she _does_ move back quite a bit to give him space. She may be getting used to him as a partner, but she doesn't want to inadvertently end up too close, especially when she's _supposed_ to be planning a wedding.

That's when it hits her: Rick should've called. But, before she can really think about it, Holder's removed his hoodie and haphazardly falls down to his side of the blanket. Thankfully, he also pushes himself quite far away from her. After an awkward second, he snorts and says, "Y'know, it woulda been the same if we'd shared a bed."

"Yeah, but it's the principle behind it," she offers. "Floor - _fort_ - is better than bed."

Holder shrugs, and she quirks an eyebrow before declaring, "No funny stuff, Holder. I came here to get closure for Rosie's family, _not_ to get taken advantage of."

"Wait, you mean you didn't come back because you wanted a piece of this?" He grins, but it disappears when she glares. "A'right, Lin-den, I can keep my hands to myself. No problems."

She rolls her eyes at him, and his smiling face is the last thing she sees before unconsciousness takes hold.

It's odd, but they've never really felt like partners before. Now, laying just inches away on a dirty floor, their bond is stronger than ever, and he's glad for it.

Secretly, so is she.


End file.
